


Land of Trees

by Burnt_Scone



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alabama, Coming of Age, Memories, remembering who you are, trying to figure out your path
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burnt_Scone/pseuds/Burnt_Scone
Summary: Max is now 22, hes going back to his roots to find where live went wacky.





	Land of Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Just an intro lovelies, this is greatly based on places of my childhood, this one for the next couple chapters is Wilmer Alabama

The oak trees towered, the Alabama sky. Kudzu climbed the tall trunks the looming trees. The sound of cicadas in the buzzing of mosquitoes is what Max remembers, the humid air caused condensation to form on the lenses of his glasses. Dewberry brambles wrapped his ankles, the cuts leaving a burning feeling.

kid looked up through the trees as Mockingbirds flew on high. he picked a few do berries, Max remembers the flavour tart, yet sweet. He walked out of the forest and out into a clearing. Power lines spread down the stretch, a rabbit hopped in the distance. He had left his bicycle leaning against a tree, It's cold chains rusted, they made a sound when he began to move it. 

The chains popped and creaked, the sound of doves flying out of the crabgrass surrounded him as he hung old song, he no longer knew the words, but the melody stuck. 

It's been seven years since this memory took place. Max is now driving into a small town in rural Alabama. An old gas station not you since 1954, sits as a garage. Filled from window to window with boxes and knick-knacks. Dust covers the tarnished windows, but that's one red light. 

he drives down the highway, tall trees canopy the pavement stretch. He turned off the highway, onto a hardly busy road. he drives past old pickups and produce stands. A man in a roll Tide crimson color shirt, and khaki cargo shorts, stands next to bins of watermelons and baskets of green tomatoes. 

Max drive into a dirt road, the dust covers the windows and the ones white paint coat, turns a rusty color. For miles it's only foliage and random moss-covered mailboxes. He finally pulls into a driveway, field and buy gravel, but mostly washed away. It passes a pond, which holds two small islands and on the far end, a small swamp sits. Geese and other fowl circle the watery mass.

The end of the drive meets the back side of the cottage. Three bedrooms and a fireplace, that many can sit around and bond in the forty degree winters. A true freeze was rare, to Max, that was perfect. He never quite fancied cold. He exited his vehicle, An old station wagon. He walked up to the back porch. He walked over to the hiding place at the key indentured is a bit warm people aren't there they never really turned on the air conditioning so he had to do that himself along with the hot water can the water in general the water came from the well which everyone quite fancied. It had a metallic taste, and it just felt good. 

Max walked back to what seemed to be a room for children, he planted himself on the feather filled mattress and sighed, it felt like he could finally rest his eyes.


End file.
